Eragon:Back in Time
by Poseidonschild
Summary: Eragon is stuck in the past with Oromis reading his legend.


"Where did you find these?"

A young man with blond hair and dark eyes met his teachers pale gaze. He was barely of manhood and he was optimistic and spirited in his approach to life. Energetic in everything he did, he learned his lessons quickly and was eager to study more. "Upon my worktable Oromis-Elda," he answered.

His teacher, Oromis, nodded. "And this note," he said holding up the mentioned parchment, "It was on the table with these books?"

"Yes Oromis-Elda," the boy nodded.

"Was there anything else...odd or abnormal in your quarters this morning, Brom?" Oromis asked. Brom shook his head in denial. Everything had been fine, which was why he had not noticed the small stack on his work table until he had sat down at it. Oromis nodded and unfolded the note and began to read. His expression became grim and then worrisome as he read through its contents. After several moments of silence Oromis finally put down the parchment. "Brom if you could fetch Morzan and meet me in my quarters, I would appreciate it."

"Of course, Oromis-elda," he agreed with a quick bow and then hurriedly left. Oromis stared after the boy in concern. He did not know how to approach Brom about his devotion to the other boy he had been apprenticed with. Brom looked up to Morzan, but Oromis saw how often Morzan used that hero-worship to exclude the young man from his own activities and to get out of doing unpleasant things by passing them onto Brom. He was at a loss as to whether he should discuss it with Brom or not. Oromis sighed. It was a problem for another time, now he needed to find Vrael and deal with a much more pressing problem.

It did not take long for him to locate his friend, but Oromis arrived at his quarters with Vrael to find Brom and Morzan already there and waiting for them. Oromis nodded to his two apprentices and then led them into his rooms and bid them to be comfortable. Each found their own space in a chair and Oromis came back with tea to drink and biscuits for them to snack on.

He sat down and then studied his two charges carefully. "Now, Vrael is already aware of why we are here and Brom knows part of it, but what do you know Morzan?"

Morzan studied his mentor for a moment before speaking, "Very little. Brom only said that he had found several scrolls and then was sent to fetch me."

Oromis nodded, took a moment to gather his thoughts and then spoke, "According to the letter, that was left with the scrolls, we are to read them. Apparently they have pertinent information of our future."

"Is that not dangerous?" Brom asked cautiously.

Oromis beamed at his apprentice proudly for having considered the dangers. "But we will know how to avoid our misfortunes. It's power in our hands, we should make use of it," Morzan argued.

"But we could make things so much worse, or prevent the better things from occuring," Brom argued with a frown.

Perhaps his apprentice was not so willing to follow Morzans lead as he had thought. He was not rushing to agree with Morzan after all. "Brom is right Morzan. This should be treated with great caution, for we do not know what we could be dealing with or what we could be changing. However, Brom, as these have arrived by means which we are unaware of, it is perhaps safer for us to play the game that has been set, at least until we know what it is we are dealing with. The note did say that there were those who's well-being depended on it."

"So we are reading these scrolls to help keep someone alive?" Morzan asked. He seemed slightly disgruntled by the idea.

"Every life is ours to protect," Oromis rebuked kindly. "It is our duty as Riders. However the note said well-being, not life. It may mean the same thing, it may not. All we can do is read," Oromis said.

Morzan nodded and said no more. Brom copied the act though hesitantly. Unlike his peer however he did not relax in his seat, which pleased Oromis greatly. It meant that he was as weary of reading the scrolls as he was. Vrael leaned back, but his arms were crossed over his chest and he was stiff as he awaited Oromis to begin reading. A soft knock upon his door however prevented him from doing anything more than taking a deep breath.

Casting a glance at Vrael he got up out of his seat and answered the door. Before him stood another apprentice from another rider and beyond her were two young men, an elf and ...his eyes widened in surprise, a Urgal. "What is it Tamora?"

"These four crossed our boundaries, said they were here to see Vrael or you," Tamora said. "Someone said Vrael was here with you, so…"

"Thank you Tamora, you may go back to your studies," Oromis said kindly. Tamora gave a quick bow and hurried off.

Oromis studied the small group before him. A young man at the front with elvish features drew his attention as he began to speak, "Oromis-elda, Atra esterní ono thelduin."

"Mor'ranr lífa unin hjarta onr," Oromis replied with the customary phrase and following it with the hand motions as the young man had done.

"Un du evarínya ono varda," the man added, surprising the old elf with the last line of formality and great respect.

"You are well versed in the customs of my people," Oromis said. Then, with a wave of his hand in the direction of the women who's elven features were far more pronounced than the young mans, he added, "Perhaps it is the company you keep."

He bowed his head in acknowledgment of the fact. "This is Arya Drottingu, a good friend," the young man introduced. Oromis was surprised by the title the young man had given the woman. He knew that as of yet, Islandzaldi, the elven queen, had no children. Before he could ask any questions however the man continued. "This is Murtagh, my brother, and this is Nar Garzhvog, a kull tribe leader and a good friend. I am Eragon."

"It is unheard of to find Urgals or Kull in the company of men," Oromis observed staring at Eragon intently.

"No, I do not suppose that you have," Eragon glared. "Why would they want to be anywhere near the very people who continue to steal their lands and massacre their people?"

Oromis did not know what to say to the young mans rebuke and only nodded in response. Stepping aside he allowed them entrance to his chambers. "Tamora was correct in assuming that Vrael was here. Come." Oromis led them to the main room where Vrael and his apprentices were sitting patiently and full of curiosity. "We were just beginning to read some very interesting scrolls that arrived this morning…"

"Oromis…" Vrael began as he stood from his seat. His hand had gone to his side where a knife hung at his belt as he spotted the Kull in the back of the group.

"...Coincidentally they're titled Eragon," Oromis finished speaking over whatever Vrael wanted to say with a mischievous smirk. Eragon stopped mid-step, standing erect with a look of bewilderment and astonishment upon his face.

"What?" he gasped.

"Yes, the note said that they were records of the future. Curious," Oromis said with a very convincing look of confusion on his face, but his tone was anything but. The four exchanged uncertain looks and then looked back at Oromis and it was clear that none of them had any idea how to approach the subject.

"What was it exactly that you wished to speak to Vrael and I about?" Oromis asked innocently.

Eragon floundered in his speech, but his companions did nothing to aid him. Finally he was able to get words past his lips. "We, well, we are not certain how it happened. We were heading to an Urgal tribe to...well it hardly matters, but, well, we were caught in a storm. It lasted for three days. When it was over we were halted at the border by Tamora. Before the storm hit we were up in the Spine, a mountain range north of Palcanar Valley. We never crossed an ocean to get here, and you were, well all of you were…" he trailed off, his voice cracking either unwilling to say or incapable of saying what it was that they were.

"What he is trying to say, Oromis-elda, is that we are roughly a hundred years in our past," Arya said abrubtly.

"So these scrolls," Vrael said motioning to the stack on the table his eyes never leaving the Kull. "They are from your time?"

Arya tilted her head in consideration, "It is quite possible. I know of no other Eragon of importance other than the father of our order. It could be possible that this Eragon is from much farther in the future than even us, but it can not be a coincidence that we are here at the time these scrolls arrived."

"You are riders?" Morzan asked.

"Yes…"

"And the Kull?" Morzan asked. Neither Vrael or Oromis rebuked him for the question.

"Is a personal friend, to which I owe much," Eragon growled. The Kull grasped the young mans shoulder for a moment and let go and Eragon relaxed, still glaring at Morzan.

"Perhaps we should formally introduce ourselves," Oromis suggested. "Everyone knows who Vrael and I are, but…"

Eragon nodded in agreement, "I am Shurt'gal Eragon Bromson, Shadeslayer. My dragon is Saphira."

"My name's Brom and my dragon is Spahira also," Brom announced staring at the man curiously. Oromis couldn't help but note that the two men looked very much a like.

Eragon smiled at the slightly older man. "I know. I unwittingly named her after yours. She was very honored to share her name with a dragon as noble as yours. Thank you, for suggesting it."

"WE know each other?" Brom asked and then blushed furiously as the information he had learned connected in his mind. "Im your father."

Eragon barked out a laugh at his fathers youthful antics. It was so hard to connect this young energetic and optimistc man with the cynical and weary one he became. "Yes, a better father I could not have asked for. Your turn Murtagh."

Murtagh pursed his lips and said nothing his arms were crossed stiffly over his chest and he was casting dark looks out of the corner of his eyes towards Morzan.

Eragon seemed to realize what the problem was and spoke for him. "This is Murtagh his dragon his Thorn."

"You said you were brothers?" Oromis asked.

"Yes," Eragon smiled. Murtagh glanced at his brother and his posture softened at the claim.

"So I'm your father too?" Brom asked innocently.

Murtagh stiffened again, looked at the young man and then back at Eragon with a panicked expression. Eragon however didn't seem to know how to help his brother. Murtagh turned back to Brom and shakily replied that no, he was not.

"We had the same mother," Eragon announced. "its complicated."

Oromis was about to demand to know who his father was when he recalled those dark glances that Murtagh kept shooting at Morzan and made an educated guess. What he wanted to know now was what Morzan had done to engineer such hatred in his son for his own father.

"I am Shurt'gal Arya Drotting, daughter of Islanzaldi and Emdar, Queen of the Elves," Arya said before more questions could be asked of Morzan's parentage. "My dragon is Fenir."

"I am Nar Garzhvog," the Kull said standing up tall.

"Where are your Dragon's currently?" Vrael asked.

"They're out exploring. Tamora saw to it that they would have a place to stay for the evening and they wandered off with her friend," Eragon explained.

"Shall we begin then,"Oromis smiled and then motioned for them to take a seat, which they did. He picked up the scroll he had been about to read from earlier and settled into to his own seat.

**Wind howled through the night, carrying a scent that would change the world. A tall Shade lifted his head and sniffed the air. He looked human except for his crimson hair and maroon eyes.**

"A shade?" Brom gapped. Morzan leaned forward curiosity pulling at his features and Murtagh scowled at him with disgust. Oromis as well noted the curious reaction from Morzan and the equally strange reaction of his son. "I thought we made it near impossible for them to exist."

"Near, but not quite impossible," Oromis said kindly. "It is probable that one slipped through the cracks." Vrael noticed the odd look the time travelers shared. It was obvious that what Oromis had said was not the reason a Shade was wondering through Algaesia, but he had no other theories.

**He blinked in surprise. The message had been correct: they were here. Or was it a trap? He weighed the odds, then said icily, "Spread out; hide behind trees and bushes. Stop whoever is coming . . . or die."**

"I wonder what they're hunting?" Morzan wondered, his eyes dancing with anticipation.

"What worries me is that there are Urgal's following a shade," Vrael noted casting a supicious glance at Garzhvog. Garzhvog, however, was not listening but glaring vehemently at the scroll

"I have never heard of them gathering together before, either," Oromis agreed.

"That is because we do not," Garzhvog said gruffly. "We have gathered but once before under the rule of our King. Never before and never since have we gathered. This we remember only as our time of enslavement."

"That is not true, you gathered to the Varden as one," Eragon pointed out. Garzhvog grunted in response, conceeding the point.

"The Varden?" Vrael asked.

"A rebellion group," Eragon said. "I'm sure it will be discussed."

Oromis and Vrael exchanged a speaking look while Brom gazed at them worriedly. The same question was running through their minds - why would Algaesia want or need a rebellion group?

**Around him shuffled twelve Urgals with short swords and round iron shields painted with black symbols. They resembled men with bowed legs and thick, brutish arms made for crushing. A pair of twisted horns grew above their small ears. The monsters hurried into the brush, grunting as they hid. Soon the rustling quieted and the forest was silent again.**

**The Shade peered around a thick tree and looked up the trail. It was too dark for any human to see, but for him the faint moonlight was like sunshine streaming between the trees; every detail was clear and sharp to his searching gaze. He remained unnaturally quiet, a long pale sword in his hand. A wire-thin scratch curved down the blade. The weapon was thin enough to slip between a pair of ribs, yet stout enough to hack through the hardest armor.**

"Durza," Eargon gasped sitting up straight. He exchanged a weary glance with his brother and then looked over to Arya, a frown etched deeply into his features that Oromis found intriguing.

**The Urgals could not see as well as the Shade; they groped like blind beggars, fumbling with their weapons. An owl screeched, cutting through the silence. No one relaxed until the bird flew past. Then the monsters shivered in the cold night; one snapped a twig with his heavy boot. The Shade hissed in anger, and the Urgals shrank back, motionless. He suppressed his distaste—they smelled like fetid meat—and turned away. They were tools, nothing more.**

**The Shade forced back his impatience as the minutes became hours. The scent must have wafted far ahead of its owners. He did not let the Urgals get up or warm themselves. He denied himself those luxuries, too, and stayed behind the tree, watching the trail. Another gust of wind rushed through the forest. The smell was stronger this time. Excited, he lifted a thin lip in a snarl.**

**"Get ready," he whispered, his whole body vibrating. The tip of his sword moved in small circles. It had taken many plots and much pain to bring himself to this moment. It would not do to lose control now.**

**Eyes brightened under the Urgals' thick brows, and the creatures gripped their weapons tighter. Ahead of them, the Shade heard a clink as something hard struck a loose stone. Faint smudges emerged from the darkness and advanced down the trail.**

**Three white horses with riders cantered toward the ambush, their heads held high and proud, their coats rippling in the moonlight like liquid silver.**

Eragon cast another worried glance at Arya but said nothing.

**On the first horse was an elf with pointed ears and elegantly slanted eyebrows. His build was slim but strong, like a rapier. A powerful bow was slung on his back. A sword pressed against his side opposite a quiver of arrows fletched with swan feathers.**

**The last rider had the same fair face and angled features as the other. He carried a long spear in his right hand and a white dagger at his belt. A helm of extraordinary craftsmanship, wrought with amber and gold, rested on his head.**

Arya stiffened in her seat and Eragon reached across the space between their seats to grab hold of her arm in support. Vrael watched them curiously. They apparently knew what was happening and what was to come.

**Between these two rode a raven-haired elven lady, who surveyed her surroundings with poise. Framed by long black locks, her deep eyes shone with a driving force. Her clothes were unadorned, yet her beauty was undiminished. At her side was a sword, and on her back a long bow with a quiver. She carried in her lap a pouch that she frequently looked at, as if to reassure herself that it was still there.**

**The band of fire thickened, contracting the area the Urgals had to search. Suddenly, the Shade heard shouts and a coarse scream. Through the trees he saw three of his charges fall in a pile, mortally wounded. He caught a glimpse of the elf running from the remaining Urgals.**

**She fled toward the craggy piece of granite at a tremendous speed. The Shade examined the ground twenty feet below, then jumped and landed nimbly in front of her. She skidded around and sped back to the trail. Black Urgal blood dripped from her sword, staining the pouch in her hand.**

**The horned monsters came out of the forest and hemmed her in, blocking the only escape routes. Her head whipped around as she tried to find a way out. Seeing none, she drew herself up with regal disdain. The Shade approached her with a raised hand, allowing himself to enjoy her helplessness.**

**"Get her."**

**As the Urgals surged forward, the elf pulled open the pouch, reached into it, and then let it drop to the ground. In her hands was a large sapphire stone that reflected the angry light of the fires. She raised it over her head, lips forming frantic words. Desperate, the Shade barked, "Garjzla!"**

**A ball of red flame sprang from his hand and flew toward the elf, fast as an arrow. But he was too late. A flash of emerald light briefly illuminated the forest, and the stone vanished. Then the red fire smote her and she collapsed.**

**The Shade howled in rage and stalked forward, flinging his sword at a tree. It passed halfway through the trunk, where it stuck, quivering. He shot nine bolts of energy from his palm—which killed the Urgals instantly—then ripped his sword free and strode to the elf.**

**Prophecies of revenge, spoken in a wretched language only he knew, rolled from his tongue. He clenched his thin hands and glared at the sky. The cold stars stared back, unwinking, otherworldly watchers. Disgust curled his lip before he turned back to the unconscious elf.**

**Her beauty, which would have entranced any mortal man, held no charm for him. He confirmed that the stone was gone, then retrieved his horse from its hiding place among the trees. After tying the elf onto the saddle, he mounted the charger and made his way out of the woods.**

**He quenched the fires in his path but left the rest to burn.**

Silence filled the space between the companions as Oromis's voice faded. No one really knew what to discuss first.

"That was you?" Brom asked looking at Arya. "That was you wasn't it?"

Arya nodded stiffly and Eragon squeezed her arm in comfort.

"Why were the elves escorting a dragon's egg?" Vrael asked. "We have riders that commute the eggs from city to city?"

The companions went stiff as a board at the question. Surprisingly it was Murtagh who answered. "Someone," Murtagh growled and Vrael and Oromis didn't miss the quick glance he shot at Morzan. "Decided that being a rider wasn't enough. They had to be a Rider and a King. At the time this event occurs the Riders no longer existed. They were a myth, a story told to children and around camp fires. There were only three eggs in existence, that egg being one of them."

"What happened?" Vrael asked after several moments of stony silence.

Murtagh looked him in the eye with a gaze full of pity and condemnation. "You were unprepared and were slaughtered. Only two riders survived from the order, and only one of them survived with their dragon. Those riders that became known as the Forsworn killed themselves off over the years until all that was left was the King. "

Vrael had to bite back a wince at the man's blunt explanation. Eragon shot his brother a reproachful look, but Murtagh merely shrugged his shoulders.


End file.
